The room was filled with some 500 years worth of friendships and maybe 600 more of family years.
Think about it: I was in a room with people I had known collectively for more than a thousand years.
Methuselah didn’t live that long, and I know he didn’t have friends that were as loyal or as wonderful as these.
We were in the living room at Dozen Acres Farm. The sun was shining, and spring seemed possible, if not eternal. We were loving and being loved.